Angel's aren't dirty
by Lady Nassah
Summary: The reason Cecilia really committed suicide. Almost.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters. Am in no way associated with the author or the cast and crew of the movie. I make no money off this; it's just for fun.  
  
**A/N: **I got the idea whilst riding the bus home, the story playing in my head at the time didn't fully make it here, but the most of it is. Please review and this is my first Virgin Suicides fic.  
  
**Summary:** The reason Cecilia really committed suicide. Almost.

**Angels aren't dirty**

The psychiatrist's couch beneath her was soft. The whirr of the noisy fan punctuated the silence in the office. She stared aimlessly around taking in her surroundings as best as she could lying down. The room was completely bare except for a table, an armchair, the couch and a chair behind the desk.   
  
There were no diplomas, no degrees, and no frames to indicate that the psychiatrist was qualified in any way. Even if he wasn't, she didn't care. She was just here to pass the time. To get out of the house.  
  
The psychiatrist was slumped over in his chair. Aimlessly staring at the wall above her, disinterested in his surroundings, as if he had inspected everything and it held no value for him anymore, as it did to the other occupant of the room.  
  
He wasn't looking at her with a hawk-eyed stare that his colleagues might have adopted; instead he closed his eyes for a while then continued staring at the wall. He presented a cool, aloof exterior to the girl.  
  
A comfortable silence ensconced them. He was with her for the whole day, instead of the hour of his time he usually allocated. They had paid him well, saying that her mental state of mind was important, and he had to heal her. She was broken.  
  
The clock slowly ticked as the minutes passed them by.  
  
"I'm not crazy," she said breaking the silence. She was still staring at the wall as he gazed at her, startled by her comment.  
  
"Then, why did you try to kill yourself?" he asked her, crossing his legs. Yet he made no notes. It was like having a conversation with an old friend, helping them rehash what went wrong when they broke up with their wife.   
  
She shrugged and turned her attention back to inspecting the spartan room.  
  
Silence once again engulfed them as they sat companionably.  
  
Half an hour passed until she said, "You don't know what it's like be a girl." Her voice was quiet as she continued to avoid his gaze.  
  
He smiled, amused a her comment and said, "Evidently"  
  
He returned his gaze at the wall, rehashing the last night's events and what he would do when he got home tonight. It was another hour before she spoke again, as if the silence threatened to engulf her if she didn't speak from time to time.  
  
"You don't know what it's like to fall in love with _him_, to see the other girls openly fawning over him. To know that he knows they fawn." she said, a bitter anger threatened to come out in her voice, but she quietened it.  
  
"Why Cecilia?" he asked, patiently waiting for her to continue.  
  
"Angel" she said, jumping to a different topic.   
  
He didn't ask what it meant or why she had changed the subject; he just sat quietly and patiently, waiting for her to explain.  
  
"Call me Angel, that's what my mother calls me," she said facing him, shifting her self so that she was lying on her side.   
  
He smiled and his eyes gazed into hers. As they stared and neither said a word as if both their souls could connect through their gaze, where words couldn't penetrate.  
  
She pulled away and lay on her back again, "Because it's dirty. To desire is dirty and I have to scrub myself clean if I think like that" she said.  
  
Her voice held a pain, as if telling a secret that plagues her had lifted a burden, gnawed at her very being.  
  
"Who told you that?" he asked, his voice was gentler. Softer.  
  
She lay on her side again, but this time faced the wall and gazed at the beige paint, which adorned the Spartan office.  
  
"You're trapped as a girl. I am anyway. _He_ noticed _them_, with their short skirts and long hair. They fawn and he picks them up like ripe cherries. Sometimes it's deafening to hear my own heart, I'm scared he'll hear it. Then I really will be dirty. Every time he passed by, the roar of my heart and the desire I felt, deafened the chatter of the hallway," she said.  
  
He was beginning to understand now. Yet, he remained aloof and patient, waiting.  
  
"My mother sat us all down and said desire was dirty. That we had to scrub ourselves clean if we ever felt it. She said men could desire women and do what they wanted as long as they brought a wage home. She told me I was her Angel. That Angel's were pure. Angel's aren't dirty."  
  
Cecilia stopped. She turned and lay on her side again, this time facing him. Her gaze pierced into his as he heard the crack in her voice as she strained to keep it steady, "But theirs only so much I could scrub. I scrubbed till my hands and body were raw. Then I thought of the Angels. And I realised that if I was an Angel I could fly and I would be pure, never dirty.  
  
So, I decided to fly, to join the Angels. And the next thing I know, I'm here"

**The End**


End file.
